Respect
by The Seventh L
Summary: The TARDIS takes a peek into the future, and doesn't like what she sees one bit. Spoilers for the end of "Forest of the Dead", references to Torchwood characters.


There's a corner of the library, far away from the comfy recliners and cushioned chairs normally occupied by the Doctor and his companions, in which on a long-forgotten shelf, wedged between volumes of Vogon poetry and studies on string theory in relation to the Flying Spaghetti Monster, is a book. Well, duh, of course it's a book - it's in a _library_, innit? - but it's never been read or opened, there's no tag saying where it was bought from, and it's blue. It's blue and looks oddly like the exterior of the TARDIS.

Oi, that's me! I mean - this is only part of me. Oh, let's not get into all of that technical rubbish about the 'soul of the TARDIS' and 'parts of a whole', we'll only confuse ourselves. Or is it myself? There's a kindred pair of scholarly souls in me that wants to fix my personal pronouns, but I don't think I thought much of school.

Anyhow, this book - I can look into it, I'm practically the shelves themselves, with eyes that burn through wood and metal. I see everything that goes on in here, and occasionally I look into the small blue book. Most of the time, it's empty. Dreadful reading, really.

But sometimes - and this is the fun bit - sentences will spring up, like blood bursting from a vein onto a sheet of paper, forming words, making fragments of stories. I don't really know what it all means - it's never in chronological order, never in any kind of order. But here's what I've figured so far.

1. There's this bird writing, called River. She likes digging up old things from the ground, like that time part of me dug up the bones of an old animal in his backyard and everyone convinced him it was part of the Loch Ness Monster until my Doctor went and showed 'em the real beastie, swimming in a loch of stardust.

2. She's with the Doctor, but he's not my Doctor. I mean, not yet. So I call him Not-Doctor, and he's all skinny and rather uppity for his old age. Over a thousand years old, hoppin' around like a jackrabbit on speed? Honestly, I wonder if Not-Doctor ever eats or anything, he doesn't seem to have the time. (Ha!)

3. Oh yeah, River totally digs Not-Doctor. But I don't think Not-Doctor realizes. He's too busy saving planets and what-not. Just like all the Doctors before him really. Silly old things.

So that's what I've read up to today. Today a new entry appeared - well, actually it appeared yesterday, but I was running low on fuel and didn't get around to it. (Part of me wonders what's the use in reading imaginary stories in books. I've given up explaining it to myself, really, she's a brute of a girl.)

I couldn't be madder. I couldn't be more steamed, more enraged, more other words that describe what I'm feelin' - y'know, _mad_. And all because of this Not-Doctor. No respect, he's got! All talk and swagger, and then he goes and treats us - me! - like that. I mean, he hasn't done it yet, but I know he will and that just steams my buns more than anything.

So I can't stop him from doing it - hello? time paradox in the making! - but I can still punish him for doing something he hasn't done yet, right? Is that even logical? Bloody hell, time travel made a lot more sense when you weren't actually part of the process, all melded in with the wires and panelings and other doo-hickeys the Doctor's been putting up from time to time. I have even been picking up some lingo from some of his companions and stuff - we certainly didn't know all this stuff back in '66, you know. No one would call me the Duchess anymore, that's for sure. (Ben's around here somewhere, his sense of direction's rather poor for a sailor, let me tell you!)

Well, I'll just make up some excuse in the morning. Like faulty wiring. There we are, faulty wiring in my synapses! Sorry Jo, I know that's your field of expertise, but I don't think you'll have to take the blame this time.

* * *

The Doctor was juggling what looked like a clunky wrist watch back and forth, a frown upsetting his facial features. Peri watched him from the other side of the console and debated whether or not to be concerned or amused. She went with amused.

"It just boggles the mind that such an advanced piece of technology was lying around in some sewer in Cardiff, waiting to be picked up. Who does a thing like that?"

"But what is it?"

"Hmm?" The Doctor looked up from the bracelet-like object, acting like he'd forgotten anyone else was in the room. "It's a vortex manipulator. The red-eye flight of time travel, Hops through rips in the fabric of time in the least leisurely manner possible."

Peri gave the Doctor a look. "As if the TARDIS is a luxury cruise compared to that?"

The blond Time Lord looked aghast, almost hurt by her words. "Please, Peri, the two cannot even be compared! The TARDIS is a piece of work - this _junk_ is nothing compared to the intricacies that go on---"

"All right, all right," Peri said, trying to hide a smile. "But from the way that Asian girl was talking--"

"Toshiko, I believe it was."

"--she said it travels faster than the TARDIS."

The Doctor made another face. He was certainly giving his facial muscles a workout in such a short amount of time. "Miss Sato has clearly never dealt with such a prime piece of Gallifreyan technology as mine!"

"I thought you said the Type 40 was obsolete and out of circulation?"

After an uncomfortable silence, the Doctor continued, keeping his eyes on the vortex manipulator. "Yes, well, it was my tune-ups over the years that made her what she is today. And that is what counts. Ergo, I am correct. As always."

"Anyhow," he said as he began messing with the controls on the console as only he could, "the TARDIS can do everything that crackerjack vortex manipulator can do. I'll be much happier once we ditch the blasted thing into the nearest black hole."

"You mean unlike the last time, where you gave it to a Time Agent to cover a pub bill?" Peri said with a wry smile.

"Under the circumstances, it was the right thing to do," the Doctor said through gritted teeth. "Besides, it was worthless. The TARDIS is capable of the same short hops as that bracelet I gave Captain Harkness, when she's feeling up to the job." He reached for the switch that controlled the scanner. "And a lot faster, too - she can cover three hundred miles just like_ that_."

At that moment, three things occurred, all in quick succession: the Doctor snapped his fingers, the TARDIS doors opened, and the whole ship buckled in such a way as to send the unprepared Time Lord sprawling through the doors and into the snowy banks of the alien world they had just landed in.

He didn't want to admit it, but between suffering through Peri's incessant laughter and teasing and the sudden awkward silence from the TARDIS, the Doctor felt there was something like a conspiracy going on. Something involving clicking his fingers. Something he would not be doing for many years to come.

* * *

"I think the TARDIS is giving you dirty looks," Donna told the Doctor as they took up their regular positions around the console. "Steering's more temperamental than over. Wot did you do this time?"

"Nothing. Besides, that's nonsense, she loves me!" the Doctor protested, peering at his buxom companion through Buddy Holly specs. "All I did was snap my --- oh, _no_ . . ."

The grassy hills of rural Ohio were no less forgiving to the Doctor's body as he found himself once more thrown from his TARDIS like a rider from an unruly horse.

'_History must be having a laugh at my expense_', he thought dully as Donna's upbeat laughter rang through the air, his face in a conveniently placed patch of dirt, '_Cos it's certainly repeating like mad lately_.'


End file.
